


Closer

by RegulusLi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Did I mention Modern?, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Farm Owner!Iron Bull, Fluffy, M/M, Mirror Universe, Modern Dating, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegulusLi/pseuds/RegulusLi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a not-so-happy accident, Maxwell Trevelyan found a farm called Bull's Charger, and met someone increasingly significant in his entire life. </p><p>The world needs more M!Trevelyan, am I right?</p><p>I would try to come up with a new chapter each week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Singing in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I do need to apologize in the beginning for my unsatisfying writing skill and even worse English.  
> Don't have a beta yet, so there will be mistake and typo all over the place, please be kind.
> 
> Lot of love for any kudos, comment or just reading <3
> 
> Maybe I didn't explain enough in the tags, this work based on modern Thedas, but I actually just made-up everything. Nothing based on the real nations or events or cities or dragon age original setting. Please don't take it too seriously.

-1-  
It has to be rain, always has to be! Maxwell Trevelyan wipes the water from his face, yet the rain is just too heavy for him to walk like normal person without the desire to kill anyone. 

His car broke down two or three miles away few hours ago, that is the only reason he is walking in the rain. Well, should he start to sing? The awful sound he makes when it comes to singing anything might serve well to get some attention, then someone might as well help him fix the car, right?

Anyway! 

Maxwell cuts off his annoyingly wondered mind, and signed heavily. With all the luck in the world, our dear Mr Trevelyan found himself got lost in the middle of nowhere near Hinterlands or maybe Lothering, car broken down out of blue just few hours after he lent his tools to Varric, and his phone has been died too, of course. Then it began to rain, marvellous!

Right now, he just need to reach the farm where suppose be within few miles, according to GPS no his phone before it betrayed him too. Not like you can get a good reception here anyway. It might pass midnight already, he stops and looks up to the deep dark sky, and no light could be seen around him what so ever, everything is swallowed by darkness. Well, that’s surely not a comforting thought. 

With every steps made, his heart sunk a little bit. Good for you, Maxwell Trevelyan, died from forgetting charge your phone before left the hotel. Yay. Cassandra is going to kill me right this instant, if she doesn't find him before he dies in the woop woop. But before that, he’s going to strangle Dorian with his bare hands.

He tries to remember the name or anything of that I-found-one-farm-is-fairly-close-to-you, since he already lose sense of direction due to the rain, prays sound good enough for him. Well, Maker, or Andraste, or anyone out there, please guide me with light, with hope, and papa can you hear me? Papa can you see me? Pap can you find me in the…

Oh, stop singing in your head, you stupid piece of… Maxwell scolds himself just a second before actually see a vague light afar. Whoa, so it is working, while running toward the light, Maxwell starts to rethink every single pray he did before. Maybe he should be careful with what he prayed for.

So, there IS a farm nearby, Maxwell looks at the pack of houses down the hill; but only one barn has light in it. Maybe Mr & Mrs Kent live here, he thinks when walk down to the dark door. Maybe it’s red, but everything is painted with dark colour during this time of the night. 

“Hello? Anybody home?” He shouts, as loud as his sore throat allowed.

All Maxwell can hear is the annoying sound of the rain, and howling of the wind. Considering the fact that it is the only building in maybe 10 km or so, it is quite possible that no one actually leaves here. There are several modern cities in Fereldan, who will ever live in this nowhere by choice? 

The red hair holds his breath for a while, but still not sure whether the voices he’s hearing right now is reality or pure imagination. He did walk for hours to reach here, giving up without even trying is not something a Trevelyan will do.

“Hello?!” He pounds the door again, the voices stopped. Good, he’s not crazy then. Not yet anyway.

After several silent seconds, the door opened a crack, a young man looks at him in the light. Before he could say anything or even introduce himself, the young man turns his head and speak to someone behind him with a slight Tevinter accent: “Just a wet puppy, Chief, unarmed and sad.”

Did he just called him a wet PUPPY?! Maxwell’s eyes widen, but barking angrily over a nickname doesn’t sound wise right in this moment.

“Let him in then, one stray animal won’t hurt much.” A deep voice said.

The door fully opened, Maxwell wipes the water away from his face again, and looks around. The Tevinter guy who open the door for him just stand beside it, and there are a Blonde Dalish with tattoo on her face; a Dwarf with tattoo covered arms; another elf with dark hair glares at him angrily (looks like Cassandra in some way); a blonde young man sits on the floor with blank face; and yet another guy sits hear the end of long table drinking from his cup. 

And then, here is the large Qunari sits at the very end of the table, looks at Maxwell with his only eye, curious but not judging. 

“Er…Hi?” Maxwell clears his throat and tries to act like a normal person which he fails even in the best days, “Thank you for letting me in, I…er…oh, right, I should…introduce myself.”

“Yeah, you should,” the Dalish lady laughs and that makes Maxwell blush a little, “but we still goanna call you Puppy, right, Chief?”

Obviously, the large Qunair is the “Chief”, but he doesn't say anything but stares at the red hair human. 

“Well, the name is Maxwell, Maxwell Trevelyan, and my car broke down some miles away, I just wonder if…” Maxwell tries to smile, but it is difficult to accomplish when water dripping from your pant to the floor. 

“It’s quite late for your car now,” The Qunari interrupts him, and puts the cup onto the table, “find him a place to crush, and fix some food, Krem. I will personally help you to fix that thing the first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s…so generous of you, thank you.” Maxwell doesn't really expect the generosity in such a place, but as Sera might say “It’s all good, innit?”, “May I have your name?”

“No, you may not.” Qunari says with a mocking tone, “If you have my name, then I need to find a new one.”

Good, they’re all laughing now. Maxwell sighs silently, he kinds of got used to it already. He shifts the weight between his legs awkwardly, trying to think of something smart, or at least not stupid to respond. 

“Calm down, Puppy, my name is the Iron Bull, and they are my chargers.” Qunari changes to a rather comforting voice, and smiles gently at Maxwell, “It’s my farm you are standing, The Bull’s Chagres.”

“Iron Bull?” That’s quite a name.

“The Iron Bull, boy, you’d better remember that.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Maxwell realises that he was staring at Iron Bull, and that’s pretty rude in most of culture, even in Qunair’s, “It’s just…I have never met a Qunari before, and…”

That’s so not better. The young man has been called Krem snorts behind him, and others Chargers just laugh. Maxwell does not really sure if he offend them or not. However, just before he could fix another apology, Iron Bull looks at Krem and says: “Find him something dry to wear, have stray puppy die from cold in the farm is bad luck.”

Maxwell isn't planning to argue with someone who offer help and shelter. 

“Where am I going to find something dry in this weather? Rocky has been wear that damn shirt for days!” Krem complains, but Iron Bull rolls his eyes and smiles wryly, “you’re vint, no? Try blood magic.”

“And I wear this by choice.” The dwarf, Rocky, apparently, comments after Iron Bull.

Ignoring the horrified expression on Maxwell’s face, Krem curses something in Tevene, but does not look mad or offended. He turns to Maxwell and smiles kindly, “Well, maybe I could find some Grim’s old clothes, if you don’t mind.”

Grim, the blonde guys sits on the floor, just grunts.

“Of course not, I can’t be more grateful.” Maxwell says quickly, and feel heat up on his face a little when Krem grins at him. 

“Stop trying to charm the pants of every stranger you met, Cremisius.” The Dalish girl makes a disgusted sound, and rolls her eyes.

“At least I can charm SOMEONE.” Krem smirks. 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

“Don’t mind Dalish, she’s just crazy with her ma...’magination.” Krem shocks his head and guides Maxwell out of the main hall or the main barn, so to speak.

“Her name is…Dalish?” Maxwell asks curiously.

“We all have nicknames with Chief, that horned bastard you met mins ago, Dalish got her nickname ‘cause…well, she’s Dalish, right?” Krem walks three steps ahead, they go through the corridor that linked the barn with another smaller building, if you want to call any construction in a farm as “Building”, and opens the third door on second floor.

That is a small bad room, some books on the floor, and a finished chess table near the window. Krem pulls one drawer of the closet, and fetches Maxwell a soft white T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. 

“You can wear you own shoes if you like, but it’s not that cold during the nights, I don’t see bare feet as a problem, eh?” Krem winks, and Maxwell tries to smiles, but merely twists his lips in the end. 

“Cheers,” The red hair unbuttons his own damp shirt and catches the towel Krem tosses to him, fixes some sort of small talk while he turns to his back and changes, “So, I take your name is not really Krem, yes?”

“Yeah, Cremisius Aclassi, but Krem is fine.” 

“Cremisius is a lovely name.” Maxwell puts on the shirt, and realises it’s a little bit too large for him, side of his shoulder is showing a bit under the collar. 

“Well, thanks, I guess.” He says dryly, “Chief likes to give nickname, so I can image the name Puppy will stay, at least for tonight.”

“Oh, I have a friend who loves nickname, he never call anybody by their real name.” Maxwell smiles warmly with the image of Varric in his mind.

“What is your nickname from him, then?” Krem asks as they walk back to the hall, Maxwell stops a short while, and refuses to answer the question by avoiding it, “It doesn't matter, puppy’s fine, I am a dog person anyway.”

“Sure, Fereldan like their dogs, right?” Krem doesn’t seem to care at all, “You doesn’t sound like Fereldan though, Free Marches?”

“Yes, Ostwick.” Maxwell answers this honestly, he doesn't really like the whole concept of lying so much, unlike Varric and other members of him team.

“Ugh, tourism attraction.” Krem comments, Maxwell can’t help but agree, “We do have the best beaches in Free Marches, luckily not so good in winter, so still have half of time of live in peace.”

The chargers seems already began with their new round of drinking when Krem and Maxwell came back, Iron Bull laughs loudly at some joke Dalish’s telling. Krem sits back and pats the seat beside him, so Maxwell complies. 

Iron Bull hands him a dish with some beef and potato mash with gravy, he attempts to accept with grace and a polite smile, but almost knock over a bottle of beer at his right hand side. He eats silently while others share jokes and drinks, only looks up after slightly annoyed by the heat attention on him.

With the best manner, Maxwell turns to Iron Bull and asks quietly, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Iron Bull grins deeply and gives Maxwell a mixed look, “I just love staring at a hot redhead.”

Am I dreaming all this time? Or the Qunari actually just said that? Maxwell almost choked on his food, and looks at Iron Bull with wide eyes.

“I am joking, all right? I am joking!” Iron Bull says loudly after Krem glared at him, he rise both of hands like a surrender, but still smile warmly at Maxwell, “Only I do like redhead, and you are indeed…hot.”

Now Maxwell is sure that Iron Bull is flirting with him. How should he respond then? Nearly panicked, Maxwell avoid the other’s eyes, well, eye, and pretends to focuses solely on the food. Hmm, the food is indeed superior. 

Undeniably, Iron Bull is his type, you know, warm, kind, with great sense of humour, and incredibly large, both physical figure and imaginably down there. Maxwell blushes slightly on the dirty thought that barge into his head out of blue. And he hadn’t been dating for…years, more like forever, so he could use some flirt, or even a fling.

Oh, just shut up, stupid and stupid idea. Maxwell scolds at himself again, he does do it quite often. Maybe he needs to talk about it with his therapist someday, or never. He’s not really crazy, all right? Maybe Dr Veal would disagree. 

However, before Maxwell can come up with any reply, Iron Bull’s attention has changed to something else, maybe Rocky’s new story, or something the dark hair elf’s mumbling. 

“Don’t mind him,” Krem pats Maxwell’s shoulder, which draw him back to reality, “He does that time to time, don’t feel pressure.”

“Thanks.” That’s all Maxwell can manage to say without embarrassing himself like he normally do. Oh, Dorian would be so proud of him.

The dinner goes well after this small “incident”, Maxwell finishes his food, and shifts on his seat uncomfortably. Iron Bull crooks his eyebrow questionably, and hands him a beer, “It will make you relax, puppy.”

“No, thanks,” Maxwell answers automatically like every time he went to a bar with Dorian or Varric, “I don’t really drink.”

Then there is the silence, everybody stopped whatever they were doing and stare at Maxwell like he is some kind of animal in a zoo. After a long pause, Iron Bull asks beside all member of chargers: “What?”

“I…eh…I don’t drink alcohol.” Maxwell’s voice goes slightly unsure.

“What do you do, then?” Dalish asks before Iron Bull can build a sentence out of shock.

“I…do what normal people do, read, work, check e-mail,” Maxwell looks around, all of them seems drown in shock by this information, so he tries to change the subject, “speaking of which, my phone died hours ago, can I maybe borrow a charger, not a pun, or something like that?”

“We don’t have any.” Krem says plainly, like it is the most normal thing in Thedas.

“You don’t have any?” Maxwell feels a little uncertain of the situation, did he drop into some kind of time traveling tunnel during all the walking in the rain? “I mean, my phone is pretty common phone, surly one of you use the same…”

“I mean,” Iron Bull interrupts him once again, “We don’t have any type of the high shitty techie fancy stuff here in the farm.”

He sounds like Sera for a moment, if not being in shock, Maxwell would have laughed. 

“Yep, no internet, no phone reception, no charger, no mobile. We do have a landline if you want to call somebody.” The dark skin guy says calmly, he sounds like a Fereldan, “but I doubt you would remember any number without your phone.”

That’s true. 

“Is this place even real? Am I drop into the rabbit hole?” Maxwell says to himself, maybe too loudly, because Iron Bull starts to laugh really hard.

“Get used to it, kiddo.” He says when he finally managed to stop laughing and slapping his thigh, “The new stuff is dangerous sometime.”

That’s also true, Maxwell suddenly realise how much he and other people outside rely on technology every single day. For instance, Dorian, one of Maxwell’s best friends, runs his social network non-stopped, he doesn’t even sure how the Tevinter mage manage that.

“Back to the point that you don’t drink,” Iron Bull won’t just let it go, he looks at Maxwell directly to the eyes, intimidating and weirdly sexy, “Why?”

“I don’t really need to explain that to you, do I?” Maxwell regret it a second after he said it, but little relief that Iron Bull give up pursuing the question. “I am sorry, it’s just a little bit personal.”

“I understand.” Iron Bull shrugs without saying anything more.

During the rest of evening, Maxwell is beating himself up for the urge to explain everything to Iron Bull. Yet, he does not even know why.


	2. Man Like Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, the new semester is busy as crazy!
> 
> First thing first, I need to apologies of my lousy writing and terrible English. It is un-beta'd as usual, and I feel like need to apologies every time until I become better, so, forever. 
> 
> Then, apparently I know nothing about cars, so sorry about that as well, I tried to blur the information every time I come up with something I don't really know. And also the whole story is made up, nothing concerned with reality events or people or anything, so please don't think too hard on it.
> 
> Next update will be sooner than this.

2.  
Compared to yesterday, the morning is almost annoyingly beautiful. A ray of sunshine dances on Maxwell’s face, forces him to crack him eyes open. 

Ow, the headache. That is the very first thing he comes to realise after waking up. Feeling like something is pounding his head and trying to cracking his skull open, the scarlet-haired young man sits up, looking around, suddenly forgetting where and when he is, well, given if he can actually travel in time to different time-lines like in the telly shows and movies. 

Time travelling is always one of Maxwell’s fantasy, rising up basically by telly itself, he wanted to know what the Thedas like back in time, maybe there were dragons and such? And to observe how people ever lived in those freezing and lonely castles. Well, since scholars in the Cousland University of Mage and Magic-craft has indeed developed serval theories about time, maybe that fantasy could become reality someday. If Dorian would give up his social-media obsession and quit the job to devote into research, maybe it would come sooner, well, in Maxwell’s simple mind (without any enlightenment of even basic dash of magic, as Dorian once said) anyway. 

Oh, right, Bull’s Chargers, his car broke down, and he walked miles after miles in the rain, without even the minimum amount of fun by singing. Ignoring the craziness of talking and singing to himself, that actually explained the headache, since he didn’t drink any liquor yesterday or in his life. Maybe he caught cold and went under weather yesterday, Maxwell touches his forehead, and senses a little bit fever there. But nothing a hot shower and some pain killers can’t fix, he thinks while trying to find his own clothes, he can’t really wear Grim’s clothes back, right? That means he need to come back again, which might not be a bad idea, but who knows when he could find time again? Dr Veal is trying to struggle him with all the phone calls and emails, since he missed out few sessions, but it’s not like he tried to commit suicide or something, talking to yourself doesn’t really hurt anyone, right? It is so stupid to make those therapies compulsory in the bureau, who with right mind would join them anyway? Oh Maker, general Cousland would kill me for sure, I need to charge my phone as soon as possible. Ugh, where is my jacket?

“Ahem.” Krem’s voice interrupts his insanely wondered mind, Maxwell tries to cover his startles as he turns around, and Krem is leaning on the door frame, which is opened while Maxwell didn’t even noticed (how deep was him in his own mind a moment ago?) 

“Sorry, I was…” he tries to explain him lurking in the room like a lost puppy, wait…

“Tryin’ to find your stuff? I reckon so.” Krem smiles, and man this guy is cute. Maxwell feels his own cheeks heating up a bit. The Tevinter young man hands Maxwell a bag with all his half-dried clothes inside. “’Till too early to dry out completely, but Chief believes you want to get back soon, so food is ready when you are.”

That Iron Bull is sharp, Maxwell tells himself saliently, while tries to fix a smile in return. He does want, no, need to get back to Redcliff, take a shower and get change, and….no, all those can wait until he say thank you like a polite normal human being to the young man standing right in front of him. However, when he snapped out of his mind and looked up, Krem is no longer in the room.

Good job, Trevelyan.

The common hall (sort of) is not crowded as yesterday, maybe due to the heavy drinking and lazy farm schedule. When Maxwell reaches the top of stairs, the Dalish women named … Dalish is stretching her back and yawning there. She looks only half awake, but waves her hand to Maxwell lazily none the less, Maxwell manages to nod and smile (kind of) back.

“So, slept well last night?” He asks politely while walking down the stairs with her shoulder by shoulder.

“Way too early for small talks, Puppy, and small talks are weird.” She said.

She talks like an elder lady, and has tattoo on her face, not a lots of elves, even those proud Dalish activist do that anymore this days; other then that, he can also sense a small wave of magic from her as well. Yet, she thinks small talks are weird. 

“All right then.” He responds, without too much caring. Small talks are small talks, no one really cares, it is just a method to avoid awkwardness in social situation, which Maxwell feels constantly when surrounded by unfamiliar people. 

It is quite a joke in the bureau for years: Maxwell Trevelyan, who can push down rebellions and terrorists within blinks of eyes, is terrified by social events. Especially from Varric and Dorian, despite for some bizarre reasons, they are his best friends.

Maybe that is the reason he is always single.

“Morning, puppy.” Stitches says when they walked into the common hall. They used to have it in the bureau years ago, a great hall for gathering, small and causal meetings and of course meals, since their base is ancient; not just old, literately ancient, like thousands years old. But it was replaced by modern cafeteria pretty quickly. 

“Good morning, Mr Stitches.” He suddenly regrets being polite, because his words stir up a giant wave of laugh among the Chargers. They call out Mr Stitches Fancy Pants loudly and tease the poor man into bright blush, the Fereldan young man throws Maxwell a half angry look, and barks back at his friends (or family, they do look like one).

Krem is smiling at him, or them, from the other end of the long table with bacon and eggs in front of him. Damn that smells good. Food can always cure Maxwell’s bad mood, or even embarrassment, Lady Vivienne sometimes describe it as “acting like a pig”, she and Maxwell are not always on friendly terms though. 

Yes, Maxwell enjoys good food, even some not-so-good ones. It was one of the reasons he and Dorian became friends at the first place, back in Academy: He loved food, and Dorian loved good wine, and take pictures of food. Maxwell’s good appetite did remind Dorian of his old puppy back home, as he once said, it was so lucky that he didn’t gain any extra weight because of that.

Well, I’m still young. Maxwell always say so as the final come back. But the truth is, the age gap between him and Dorian, or with any other of his friends has never become an issue. 

“Sit down and grab something to eat,” Iron Bull is sitting beside Krem, says to Maxwell while others are trying to catch their breath from laughing. “They can laugh all they want, morning is a good time as other to be a little bit stupid.”

“Good as any.” Maxwell repeats, grabbing the plants Bull handed to him, and pouring himself a cup of black tea. To be honest, he wish there are some coffee, long-black preferably. It is not just him, but the whole bureau is addicted to caffeine, it is always part of their history. 

Hmm, hash brown and fired eggs with wholemeal bread. Whoever made the breakfast certainly know his or her way with food. The greasy smell can always put a smile on Maxwell’s face, as he did, Iron Bull sips his tea and says: “you should smile more, kiddo.”

That’s sweet. And Maxwell smiles a little bit sweeter. 

It is still quite early when they finished breakfast. Maxwell can tell from their facial expression and body language, it is certainly not their normal time of starting a day. Dalish even gives up struggle with her inner clock and fell asleep on dining table. None of them are morning person, he is sure about that; yet no one seems like to complain about how Maxwell’s appearing changed their schedule. 

After expressing appreciation about the food, shelter and clothes to all them again, and again, and again until it starts to be annoying, Maxwell climbs onto Iron Bull’s tuck. It is understandable: Iron Bull is a giant Quanri, he ought to have a gigantic car, no?

Unlikely earlier in the dining hall, with all the friendly laugh and jokes flying around and food acting as a distraction, Maxwell finds the silent on the road extremely uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat, which is gigantic as well, and hugs the paper bag a little bit tighter. The dampness of undried clothes starts to soak into his fresh shirt, and the sunlight is hurting his eyes a bit.

Ah, how he misses the standard sunglasses and the clean, dry but little bit stiff uniform now. Small talks are weird, it might be a common opinion among the chargers, so to large extend, Bull might share that ideas. So no small talks then. What should I say to break the ice? About weather? No, it is typical small talks, we don’t want he to hate me now, right? But why not? He is just a stranger, well, cross that, he is a handsome and generous stranger, who helped me all the way to go back home. Maybe I would have ended up died on the road last night without his help, yes? Well, first of all, I would blame Dorian for it. No, I still blame him for all this trouble, he need to buy me a good lunch and beg for forgiveness. Don’t be silly, when does Dorian Pavus ever beg for anything?

Random thoughts rash though his mind fast, and he starts to rock in the seat regularly without even noticing himself doing so. Bull glances him with a questioning look, but doesn’t say or ask anything. 

Stop that, you are acting weird. Being normal, wait, that’s even weirder, why can’t I just be normal? Oh, stop! He sighs loudly, and realises that Iron Bull is looking at his with corner of his eye (his only eye) the whole time. 

“Sorry.” He says without more explanation. Honestly, who can explain I-do-weird-stuff-and-talk-to-myself-way-too-much to a stranger gracefully? And the said stranger called him “hot red-headed” a night before, it makes the whole thing worse.

“Don’t worry.” Bull chuckles lightly, and winks at Maxwell. But to be honest, Maxwell can’t really tell it was a wink or mere blink since Iron Bull only got one eye. “We are do weird things, you did notice I gathered quite a merry band of misfits, right?”

His choice of words make Maxwell laugh out loudly. 

“One of…no, actually two of my colleagues use this term to describe their teams.” He explains while trying to hold back the laugh. 

And oh Maker, how Iron Bull makes being weird almost like a good thing. A wave warmth swims through Maxwell’s body, and drives away all the awkwardness and discomfort.

“They sounded like some decent and wise men.” Iron Bull jokes, and Maxwell laughs even more. 

It turns out that Maxwell didn’t walk as far as he thought last night. Maybe it was the rain, or the frustration, or just anxiety of being away from civilisation which made he lost track of time and distance. They exchanges some light jokes and funny stories regarding chargers and Maxwell’s friends, but nothing personal or too much detail. Apparently Iron bull doesn’t plan nor like to explain the reason he lives in the woop woop to a stranger, and Maxwell doesn’t really want to explain his job or life to anybody at all.

Maxwell can see his blue-ish coloured car from a far. It parked at the side of road, fortunately not lots of pass-byer, otherwise someone might call the cops already about the abandoned car. 

“C’on, let’s have a look.” Iron Bull says as he grabbed the tool boxes from back seats. Maxwell follows him worriedly. He loves his car like very next men, even though the car is way out of fashion and need serious update. Or just need to be scraped, Dorian said every time they drive in the car. 

“You need some serious work about it, you know.” Bull opens the front shell, and observes the engineer and such, but smiles at Maxwell seconds later to put him at ease, “but no need to worry, just some fixin’ now, and you can hit the road. Well, for now.”

“Thanks the Maker!” He says involuntarily, and tries to hold back and not to hug his car right this instant. He loves Bones more than anything. “I can’t lose Bones, I had him since the day I went to the Academy.”

“You name your car?” Bull seems to be amused by the affection, and this time, Maxwell truly and fully blushes. 

“Everyone does wired thing.” He mumbles.

“It’s cute.” The Qunari commends and laughs heartedly, “but the Academy?”

“Yeah… it was ages ago, and doesn’t really matter now, right?” Maxwell rubs the back of his neck and chews on this bottom lip, tries to change the topic to the car: “so… you mean I still need to see a mechanic?”

“If you don’t want to end up died on the road, sure.” Iron Bull closes the lid, and winks at Maxwell, this time he’s fairly sure it is an actual wink, “bet your luck to find another generous Quanri with a blighted farm.”

“I won’t do it even for all the wealth in Thedas.” Maxwell smiles back, suddenly realises that Iron Bull smiles and laughs an awful lot for a Qunari. Even nowadays, Qunari still seems to be manifestation of mysterious and stoic, maybe flat at best.

Yet, Iron Bull is so….different. And out of every possibility ever, Maxwell find himself quite like the difference, even appreciate the rain took him to the farm a little bit. Just a little.


	3. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max, Dorian and Varric have a long phone call, more like a chit-chat than some phone meeting. 
> 
> (Write this chapter while listening to Leon Bridges' Coming Home)

-3-  
“You are died, my friend.” Varric’s voice sounds a little bit different form all the transmission and electronic stuff, Max cuts himself from the desire of signing. Yeah, he’s died, for sure, Max can see General Cousland strangle him with the telephone cable in his office. 

“I know, I know, Varric, General definitely would kill me for sure, now tell me something I don’t know yet.” Max wraps the towel around his waist, looks at his vigour reflection on the fogged mirror in the bathroom. His phone (now fully charged) is on the cabinet next to the sink, the voices from the speaker echo in the small bathroom. That is both the downside and the perk of living alone: unable to afford an apartment with larger bathroom (or a bath, literally), and no need to share the small and sad shower with anyone.

Dorian actually joked about it, a lot, about how Maxwell never got chance to share a shower with anybody in a good way. Well, jokes are getting old every day, but it never stops Dorian telling it, when he is sober and drunk. 

“Don’t tell me you are putting us on speaker again in your bathroom, Maxwell Trevelyan, it is utterly disgusting!” Dorian yells from the other side of the phone. Just like how he never stop making joke of Maxwell’s pathetic romantic life, Maxwell will never stop putting him on speaker in ANY room in his apartment, especially in the shower.

“Says the men texted me DURING sex!” Maxwell replies, sadly it is actually true, and happened more than once.

“It’s not my fault! I was bored!”

“Sorry for interrupting you, ladies, you two can have this girls’ talk later on, like when I am not on the line. Shall we go back to the point?” Varric cuts Maxwell off before he could think of any good come back.

“You know that is sexist, Varric.” Maxwell gently bushes shave cream on his chin, says half-minded, “Josie will give you a whole three hours lecture if she caught you say that.”

“Okay, okay, how about I bribe you with a good lunch?”

“Pizza and pasta?”

“Pizza and pasta it is, your inquisitorialness.”

“Ew.”

“You have problem with my choice of nick name to our dear inquisitor, Sparkler?”

“No, I have a problem with his choice of food, terrible taste, and your inquisitorialness does NOT count as a nick name, you’ve gotten lazy, Varric.”

“You only have problem with me because you don’t eat at all.”

“I eat all right, mind your business, Maxie.”

“All you did was drinking, and you are the one who messed with my business first, Doe.”

“Don’t call me Doe, how many times do I need to tell you this? You make me sounds like a bloody pigeon!”

“Then don’t call me Maxie!”

“GIRLS!”

“All right, all right, I am sovvie.” Maxwell mumbles while picking up his phone. Magically, he managed to complete the task of shaving-to-look-less-like-a-cave-man while arguing with Dorian. They both know that they honestly enjoy this old-married-couple kind of come and go. 

“Yeah, you ought to be…” Dorian sounds almost like gloating, but quickly interrupt by Varric’s warning “Sparkler, what a good boy should say?” Then Dorian mumbles: “I’m sovvie too, Max.”

“Good boys.” Varric pretends to cough, then announces: “Now, if you still want to live long enough to have this pizza and pasta lunch tomorrow, I suggest you find a good excuse, Puppy, I mean a damn good one. General Cousland is definitely not someone you want to fuck around.”

“Language!” Maxwell says involuntarily, he couldn’t help with it, growing up in a devoted chantry family, he is the definition of good chantry boy. Although, Varric has never called him choir boy as he did so to Dr Veal. “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that. You are right, Varric, I am a dead man tomorrow, no, maybe today.”

“Nothing is more devastated than a dead puppy,” Dorian just can’t hide the amusement in his voice. “You know, that man actually send me a text message yesterday, a TEXT! Can you hear me? Max, you are so dead.”

General Cousland is the scariest person in the Bureau, hell, he basically reformed the whole institution single-handedly! And he keeps most of work in the old fashion way: paper documents, phone calls and weekly meetings. He believes the human contact and communications are way efficient than Dorian’s way, i.e. the social media. E-mails are the few electronic means Couland uses besides phone calls, and he never send TEXT message unless the person he contact ignored all other attempts, like when your phone deadly needs recharge, or you parted all night and not conscious enough to pick up the phone.

“It is all your fault, Dorian Pavus,” Maxwell put on his serious voice, even he’s sure Dorian won’t buy it at all. “If you didn’t insist to stay at that ridiculous pub, we could drive back together and called for help when Bones got sick.”

“Stop calling your car that, he’s not a person so won’t get sick. It! IT is not a person. Nothing but bad influence from you, Trevelyan.” Dorian makes a frustrated sigh, Max could clearly imagine how Dorian run his fingers through his perfect hair. Maxwell is secretly proud of himself for being the only person who could make perfect and fabulous Dorian Pavus messes his own perfect and fabulous hair. Very proud indeed. 

“Right back at you, Pavus. You are the evil Tevinter magister, all but bad influence, how scandalous!” Maxwell mocks Dorian with a nearly perfect Tevinter accent impression. Varric is always impressed of how Max is good with all kinds of accents, Kirkwall and Orlaisian included. 

“You knew magister is an abandoned title from almost 30 years ago, and admittedly we have some troubles with our foreign affair, and indeed fashionably late with modern philosophy of magic practice, but Tevinter does not deserve this kind of treatment, especially…”Dorian’s argument makes Maxwell remained silence and frowned to himself. Yes, Dorian is extremely passionate about his country, but as Sera may say: it is no fun!

In fact, during the time in the academy, Dorian’s passion got him (and sometimes Maxwell) into countless troubles that no one even care to keep the number. 

“You knew I am only joking, Jerk.” Maxwell says weakly. 

“You could turn fun into sour just like that, Sparkler. I have to say, it’s a gift.” Varric sighs, Maxwell imagines how the dwarf runs his hand over his forehead. 

The red-headed man throws himself into the bed, he can feel the fever is coming up, and the headache that is vaguely on the back of his mind now is crawling back. He puts the phone besides the pillows -- as a single man, Maxwell owns way too many pillow to be healthy. 

Both ends of the phone call remain silence, Max buries his face into his favourite one (among other four pillows, not healthy, Dorian strongly disapprove), and counts his own breath. Silence sometimes makes him nervous. 

It is a secret only Varric knew, he didn’t even tell Dorian, mostly because he doesn’t really believe in himself to handle the joke about it: when he was younger, he used to have this annoying stutter, even his brother made fun of it. But it got better, maybe because he’s older now, or because he went through all the tough training and a small stutter doesn’t seem to be an issues anymore, or simply because he has watched the Fereldan movie “King’s Speech” more than 30 times. Now the stutter still come back once a while, especially when he’s uncomfortable and nervous. Well, like now.

“I…I…”Maxwell tries to say, but end up upsetting with himself and couldn’t finish the sentence. Stupid, stupid Max. 

“Sorry, Max, I didn’t mean to…upset you.” Dorian apologies softly, it is not the tone of light joke or friendly flirt, he’s being honest and sincere. Maxwell only manages to smile to himself, and feels the fuzzy and dizziness from the pills he took before shower coming up. Dorian’s voice is fading away, Max tries to say something like “I am sorry too, insulting your country and our friendship are never my intention” or “IIIIIImmmmmmDooooeeeeeee.” Then finally passes out on his own bed. 

At least it is his bed this time, and he’s comfortably naked in the bed. 

It is amazing. 

Max has the best dream he had for a really long time. No death or gun fights or even any training or running. In the dream, he’s sitting at that noisy dining hall, and Iron Bull is smiling at him.

“Especially a hot red head like you, Puppy.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am so so sorry about all the errors and mistakes I made during the chapter, and everything is made-up, including "King's Speech" being a Fereldan movie. (Warning: I WILL make up more stuff, nonsense and movie titles in the future chapters.)
> 
> And I am really sorry that it took me so long to write this one, which is insufferably short and horribly written. I will update a longer chapter sometimes next week after I got home. 
> 
> Maybe I should've mentioned that this fic will contain large amount of Alistair/Male Cousland, and Varric/Male Mage Hawke pairing in the future, so you have been warned. Please don't bite me.


	4. Every time the sun comes up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This's not a happy and fluffy chapter, and I will explain all the plots in later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to you guys, thank you so so much for reading, kudos and comments!   
> I will try to write better stories!  
> (yes, all the titles of each chapter come from the song I was listening to while writing.)
> 
> And again, sorry about all the mistakes in the chapter.

4.  
“It is pure luck, I’m telling ya, kiddo.” Varric sighs happily, and chuckles when Dorian picks up napkin to wipe off the sauce on the corner of Maxwell’s mouth. They are having the pizza and pasta lunch as Varric promised, but this time, in order to prove his point to Max, Dorian actually ordered one pizza with horrifying large amount of chips. 

“If I knew Alistair is coming back this morning, I don’t even need to worry at all.” Maxwell bites his pizza and smiles with tomato sauce on his lips, “but come to think about it, their anniversary is this Wednesday, and Alistair is really obsessed with romantic holidays, isn’t he? He won’t miss that in the world. I can’t believe they have married for 10 years! Some of my friends who been together just few months ain’t that smitten with each other.”

“They met each other during the civil war, aren’t they? Like plots in those awful AWFUL stories Varric wrote – no offense, Storyteller.” Dorian bites his pizza and frowns, he really don’t like the kind sauce they put on pizza in the south, among all other things he doesn’t like in this “barbarian waste land”. 

“None taken, but I know for fact that you are an honourable member of my book club.” Varric only shrugs his shoulders, doesn’t look offended at all. It makes Dorian to make that face again, like he accidently ate some bad eggs, but Varric cuts him off before he made any smart comment, “yeah, yeah, I know, it is just research.” 

And he says it with the annoying quote hand sign that Dorian both hates and loves. The bottom line is that Varric is absolutely right: were not Alistair here, General Cousland would definitely give Maxwell a lecture about ignoring duty and failing to maintain his equipment to function properly in even the worst condition. Well, a lecture would be considered generous, truly. Since there were three different reports came to General’s attention regarding to those damned Venatori in the day Maxwell spent in Bull chargers and in bed. 

Separately, of course! Not that Maxwell fantasies that Magnificent Iron Bull in any way, no, of course not. 

Maybe a little, just a healthy amount of fantasy, really. Maxwell Trevelyan swears in the name of Trevelyan family and tea. Mostly tea. 

“So how’s Hawke?” Maxwell askes when he finished his pasta, and steals some chips from Dorian, the latter doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

“Not holding well, I’m afraid.” Varric’s tone changes, struggling to bite back a bitter sigh. He’s injured because of him, after all, and Varric blamed himself ever since Hawke got into hospital. 

“It’s a hard time, I know.” Maxwell touches Varric’s forearm just briefly, and bites his own lip. There is nothing to say would make Varric feel better. 

Almost lost your boyfriend in the fade, and get him back just to find he is not the same person anymore. Even the most talented scholar cannot tell the exact function of fade, left alone entering the fade in physical form and lost in there for a year. 

“Yeah, but he finally is able to sleep, that’s good, right?” Varric similes wryly, normally he would try to avoid this topic, except he knew that Maxwell blame himself as much as he does. This kid gets too hard on himself sometimes. 

“That’s great!” Maxwell says excitingly and turns to Dorian, “Maybe he should start some magic training very soon? It must be really frustrated to be a mage but suddenly unable to wield any magic.” 

“Not so soon, I would say.” Dorian tapes the table, Maxwell knows that it means he is thinking. “Able to maintain stable sleep is definitely good, but no need to rush anything, all Hawke needs now is rest, healthy food, goodnight sleep, caring boyfriend, and amazing sex.”

Varric could only laugh. 

Unwilling to continue this grim topic, mostly because Maxwell hates to make people upset, he finished the last piece of pizza, looks questioning at Dorian and his full cup of beer, “You didn’t drink today?”

“Thanks to our spymaster and her genius idea of compulsory therapy, I am not drinking today.” Dorian pushes his cup further to the middle of table, toward Varric, more likely, “Dr Veal is damn good at convincing and threating people to give up drinking.”

“Choir boy can do something good, only sometimes.” Varric admitted, “Hawke is going to see him and Anders this Wednesday. Hopefully Commander would leave early on his anniversary so I could sneak out as well. ” 

“You’ve never care about working hours, Varric.” Maxwell adds.

“That’s not the point, Puppy.” Varric gives his credit card to the waitress, “but don’t tell me you are seriously considering quit drinking, Sparklers!”

“Of course not! How preposterous! I would become such a boring person like our dear inquisitor!” Dorian claims dramatically.

“Hey! I am right here!” Maxwell objects, but Dorian rubs his red hair almost sweetly, assuring him: “You have other good qualities, love.”

“Oh, shut up.” The inquisitor couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice, “And don’t call me that in public, you know I don’t like the title.”

“Yet you have this fancy title nonetheless.” Dorian grins, “and to answer your question, Varric, I’m only cutting back my drinking to fit in the ridiculous Bureau standard.” 

“That’s good for you, you know,” Maxwell blushes a little when Dorian tucks his falling hair back to his ear. They do act quite intimately sometimes, but they both know the fact that a romantic progress would kill their prefect relationship that they cherish so much. “You really drink too much, it has become a problem, Doe, for both the liquor inventory in the Bureau’s bar and your health. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t! I’m not your girlfriend, Max, I don’t want to talk about my feelings! Go play therapy with somebody else.” He says without thinking too much.

It hurt the first few time when Dorian using such hostile tone and sharp words, but Maxwell aware long time ago that it’s only Dorian’s defence mechanism. Maybe another time, then. Maxwell knew Dorian had some problem with his father, but he also knew his best friend too well to actually middle his business. 

“Speaking of play therapy, Max, Choir Boy said you haven’t showed up at regular session for a while. Anything we should be warned? Or should we inform the General?” Varric asks as they walking back to the Bureau hall.

“You are skipping sessions?” Dorian sounds concerned, “we all knew that compulsory therapy in this place is really ridiculous, but you really won’t want Leliana know that you are ditching them.”

“I’m not ditching, it’s not high school.” Maxwell almost pouts, but stops himself acting like a child. “Don’t worry, Dorian, everything’s fine.”

Except it’s not. Being the inquisitor is kind of a big deal. When Maxwell finds himself trying to finish paperwork in 4 a.m. on Saturday morning, he decides a break is really necessary. That’s the main reason of him driving to that farm he had fling with early that day.

Not that kind of fling, thank you very much.

There is only one kind of fling, a voice in his head says, the one you are hoping but never getting. 

I’m not hoping, he replies in the head while turning the wheel toward further south of Redcliff. 

Yes, you are, and you knew it deep down that you won’t get his attention which you are not only hoping, but craving. The voice is cruel.

I’m not. He bites his bottom hard.

Ever since he lay his eye on you, you can’t stop thinking about him. But do you know what he sees?

Shut up.

A failure. No one will ever fall for a person like you.

SHUT UP!

Maxwell stops his car sharply on the side of country road. Put his forehead at the steering wheel, and struggle to breath.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2016 all the cuties out there! Love you all!  
> Thank you for reading this dumb fiction that had been way tooooooo long since the last times I updated. Basically I just write whatever pop into my head, so forgive me for anything that upset you in the story. (Nothing bad or disturbing happened in this story though, no worries).
> 
> Actually the inquisitor in this story in my main head-con sweet heart, I wrote "Tattoo of my heart" based on him as well, but alas that one was in another language. As you can see in this one, I don't really have any ability to do some proper translation work, so....
> 
> Kudos and commends are appreciated as always!
> 
> My new year resolution is writing more in English, wish me luck! (I do need some since I'm having the driving test next week >A

5\.   
Weirdly, Bull’s farm looks so different from that raining night last week, and Maxwell did not actually find a chance to look at it in the following morning (since he was so busy not to stare at that Iron Bull). The farm somehow is smaller than the massive black shadow in the rain that Maxwell remembered, and it looks quite nice with those deep red, almost cliché-like wooden walls and black roofing. 

Just like the standard kind of farm land in the horror movies that Maxwell loves: when zombies started waking up from underground and attacking blindly, protagonists always choose to run into buildings like this; or the kind those evil psychopath use to imprison all his prey. Maxwell absolutely love horror movies, despite Dorian’s strong disapproval. His collection is filled with low-rated bloody movies -- more like horribly awful than horrifying – and some classic old films. No one ever understand Maxwell’s taste in movies, love stories and bloody zombies should never be mixed, but Max likes them anyway, just like pizza and pasta in one meal. Praise the Maker from Antivan cuisine. 

Inquisitor parks his car on the empty lot not far from Bull’s farm, with full tank of petrol, thank you very much, and knocks on the front door, like he always does. Standing there for a good long minute, Maxwell feels like he travelled back in time, to the days in chantry school where every afternoon he held a hardcover Chant of Light and knocked on doors. “Would you like to know about the chant of Andraste?” He often began the conversation with it, and ended it with a door slap on his face. 

It is rather ironic, Maxwell reckons, a chantry boy would become who he is now. And knocking the door of a Qunari he kind of fancies, no wonder his parents took him as a shame. Well, what would they say now? Maxwell forces himself into a deep breath, and focus on the hug barn door.

Nobody answers, Maxwell holds a breath and concentrates, but no sound can be heard from inside. Maybe they were asleep? Being drunk in the middle of day seems like something the Chargers would do on daily basis, according to what he had seen on that morning last week. 

Maybe they went to some market, it is a farm after all. Maxwell was not sure how a farm actually works, even his family has a rather large farm land. The red head young man just stands there and wonders what he should do for a while. Honestly, he does not want to just leave yet for some reason, despite the rational option is to leave and take a rain check. 

Hot summer mid-day is not gentle in any sense, Maxwell can feel the T-shirt is sticking on his back with sweat, and the merciless sunlight puts rather sickly red colour on his cheek. It is one of downsides of being a Marcher, over sensitive to the sunshine, thanks to the rainy weather on the coast in most summer days. No sound in the wind as well, it is way too quiet for a normal farm land, he suddenly realises, no sound of machines or vehicle, or even animals. 

So quiet that any danger can hide within. Almost subconsciously, Maxwell reaches to the back of his belt, and lets out a relaxed breath when he found his dagger there. Bring a gun is way too rude for visiting a friend, or, in fact, a generous stranger who lent a hand when he was in need. All those year’s training makes his mind scream with alarming sound when he heard sometimes too similar to a draw of weapon from behind the main building.

It is not good for me, Maxwell licks his lip and lowers the body, speed is his strength, experience and all the stories on the confidential reports can prove that. I need a strategy, whoever it is, enemy, or more likely, enemies know the building and land better than me, he thinks while making tactic plan in mind, I need to grab the weapon in my car…

Just when he uses the building as a hide spot, leaning on the wall and take a glance back on his car not far away, the barn door is opened. 

Heart speed racing, and every muscle is ready for a fight, Maxwell almost stop breathing when he sees Krem holding the door open just like that night. 

“I told you it was him.” Krem shakes his head and smirks to Iron Bull, who was sitting at the exact same spot as that night, “you owe me 10 bucks, chief.”

Maybe it was my imagination again, Maxwell quickly draw his hand back to normal, far away from dagger on his back, or his thigh, or ankle. Maybe Dr Veal was right, the war and all those mission messed up my mind, what was that word he used again?

“Hey, puppy, surprise to see you again, your Bones broke again?” Iron Bull says friendly enough to cover the amusement in his voice. The heat on his cheeks is definitely the sun, not anything else, Maxwell will claim later on, but he cannot deny that the presence of Iron Bull is no doubt a delight of eyes. He need to bite on bottom lip to prevent himself smiling like a moron. The alarm in his mind has been turned off, for the first time in whole week, and the voice whispering nasty things disappeared as well. 

Warmth, it is the only thing Maxwell has in mind now. He imagines the warm hug from Iron Bull, how it would melt ice in the coldest winter, and his heartfelt laugh, his cheeky wink and finally, his kiss. That must feel heavenly, if Maxwell allow himself to say so. 

Stop, you stupid lunatic.

“Uh….no, I…um…. Oh, well, I am here to say thank you,” He pauses to take a quick look of Krem who walk back to the large table and grab his cup again, maybe the no sound part is all in Maxwell’s head, Chargers seems normal enough eating their lunch and drinking as usual. “I mean, I never got a chance last week, and…um…”

“No worries, kiddo,” Iron Bull laughs deeply in throat, that makes Maxwell swallows hard, “You don’t need to hesitate a whole week to do that, ya know.”

“I didn’t, I just,” Maxwell tries to find an excuse, man this Iron Bull is sharp, “I just didn’t catch a chance to come by, that all.”

“Sure you did.” The Qunari shrugs, and clearly decides not to embarrass Maxwell further. He lances his finger like a tower, elbows on the table in front of him, that’s when Maxwell notices he’s missing two fingers on the left side. “Then, how do you want to repay the help, Puppy?”

“Eh,” Honestly, Maxwell didn’t really think that far when he decided to drive whole three hours to simply say thank you. He gathers his thought and tries to suggest: “I reckon… I can pay for…”

“We don’t need your money, Puppy, what do you think it is? Hotel? Bar?” Krem says, lifts his eyebrow at Maxwell. Some of the Chargers laugh at it, and others just keep eating their lunch, like nothing happened at all. Dalish, the elven girl talks like an elder lady, is drinking straight from bottle, and no one seems want to stop her. 

“You can repay with your body, you know.” Iron Bull says that with a straight face, Maxwell genuinely can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. Yes, he is somehow fancy this huge Qunari farmer, and the voice in the back of his mind is telling him to do it, just catch the opportunity and sleep with the large man as he suggested. But of course he cannot do that, come on. 

“Stop teasing the kid, Chief, he’s red as a boiled crab.” Dalish throws her bottle at Iron Bull, and the latter just catches it and takes a sip. Suddenly the dark expression on his face is gone, Bull smiles at Maxwell almost apologetically, and winks at him, maybe it is not really a wink, hard to tell with that eye patch, “’M just fucking with you, kiddo. I was saying if you really want to show your appreciation, we have a really damn large farm, can always use a hand or two, are you in or what?”

“Sure, why not.” Maxwell says, surely he can get over with the training the academy, working at a farm will not be so hard, right?

 

Of course he was wrong. Maxwell stands on the trunk of Iron Bull’s massive truck, and picks up the last cases of vegetables. Krem told him they scheduled a market trip tomorrow, Bull’s Chargers sell most of their fresh harvest to local market and some friendly stores at Redcliff. Those places only elders and hipsters would go, Krem joked, but Maxwell felt it might be true in some degree. 

The sun is even more harsh after midday, Maxwell can feel his hair is sticking to the back of neck and forehead, and he just want to take the annoying T-shirt off. Of course not in front of Iron Bull, Max puts down the case and stretches his back, nothing happened in the bureau for a while, he might need some work out after all. 

Iron Bull offers a hand like a proper gentleman and help Maxwell jump off the trunk, which he gladly takes and squeezes a little bit too hard. “Have you consider maybe use more machines? My family in Ostwick operates in a large farm land, they use those agricultural vehicles to save manual labour, maybe you can check…”

“Nope, kiddo, I like how my farm is now, and it WILL keep this way.” Iron Bull’s tone is little bit stronger than usual, but it does not skip Maxwell’s ear. “Plus, it gives my boys more shit to do, no drinking all day, sounds good enough for me.”

Maxwell nods again, and tries to cool himself down by fanning with his shirt. 

“You can take that off, I don’t really mind,” Iron Bull winks at him, at least this time Maxwell can be sure that is a wink, “never hurt to look at something hot, right? You look real miserable here.”

He’s right, Maxwell can guarantee that, and his face is even hotter and quite possibly redder from Bull’s words. He scratches a scar which is rather new on his belly beneath the shirt, no, he can’t show THIS body to Bull. All the flirting is lovely and make Maxwell feel butterflies in his stomach, but it will not go anywhere, even though Bull looks like someone who appreciate few scars on his partner’s body, maybe even make some himself. 

It is body shaming or anything, he once told Dorian when the Tevinter criticise his issues, I just don’t want to show my body to anyone, that’s normal.

I am normal. But he didn’t say it out loud.

“Um,” Maxwell struggles to find his voice again, but Iron Bull interrupts him again, and rubs his sulked red hair, “I have a name, you know, don’t call me ‘um’ all the time, that’s rude.” 

Maxwell smile shyly, secretly wish Bull’s fingers could linger a bit longer in his hair, no one touch him like that beside Dorian, but that is another matter. This, whatever it is, is different from all the crushes Maxwell had before, including the short and pathetic one of Commander Cullen. 

Thank Maker, Cullen is a really nice man who’s willing to talk to him after finding out the sad crush thing. It is awkward enough that they had to work together after that. 

“Ok, I mean, Bull, um, can I come by after this? You clearly can use some help, and I, I, I do like this.” He scratches his cheek, pretend not to notice the raising heat there, “working at the farm, I mean.”

“You can come by whenever you want, kiddo, just don’t park your car over there next time,” Iron Bull does not notice the vibration in Max’s voice, or just pretends not to notice, “you blocked the driving way of Krem’s bike, he’s really nagging about his damn bike.”

Maxwell smiles again, even larger this time. It is not until he drives on the king’s highway; Maxwell realises that he didn’t see any drive way at all.


End file.
